Euphoria
by Annaelle
Summary: She was dark. She was alone. And she was powerful. She did not know who he was. She did not even want to know. All she cared about was that he made her feel. It was searing agony—physical pain such as she had never before experienced—but she felt it nonetheless. Rated M for language, sexual content


**Woah... **

**I'm not sure what happened here. **

**See, I had this all planned out; the beginning, the ending... And then suddenly the characters decided not to cooperate anymore and just do whatever they wanted.  
Still, I thought this was going to be happier... Only it just ... Isn't.**

**I don't know how that happened. **

**So, a warning up front, this is dark, violent and just not happy. I'm not even sure if it's good. There's no happy ending, even though I planned one. **

**Anyway... Thoughts?**

**Xx Annaelle**

**PS This is dedicated to one of fanfiction's talented writers; livialovesdelena; who died after a car accident a few weeks ago. Her story 'The Sire Bond' always made me smile, and even though this isn't a happy fic, it does reflect the darker state of mind I found myself in after I heard she had died. **

**So, Liv, we weren't close, but I did respect you, and I will miss you. **

**Love, Lisa**

* * *

**Euphoria**

She was dark.

She was alone.

And she was powerful.

Never once in her short, miserable eighteen years of life had she felt so alive, so powerful, than on the night life was taken from her altogether.

She had been scared, terrified even, when she had first caught a glimpse of gleaming white fangs flashing in the moonlight before they tore into the soft, tender skin of her neck.

But as scared as she had been, she had found herself wondering if this was death finally catching up with her. She had been living a life of agony and despair for the past two years, after her parents died in a car accident.

An accident that would not have taken place had she been more responsible.

An accident that she had miraculously survived.

She had lost count of how many times she had attempted to take her own life after the first six attempts. She knew her Aunt Jenna was dealing with a lot, but she simply could not find in her to care anymore.

Life had lost all meaning the moment her parents died on Wickery Bridge.

Until now.

She did not know who he was.

She did not even want to know.

All she cared about was that he made her feel. It was searing agony—physical pain such as she had never before experienced—but she _felt_ it nonetheless.

Deep down, she knew he could not be human. The dark, protruding veins underneath his hypnotizing eyes and the sharp, white fangs resting on his full bottom lip only furthered that particular belief.

But she refused to believe it.

If she were to believe… She would be too close to feeling once again.

Feeling curiosity. Eagerness. Darkness.

She could not feel. She was not allowed to.

Her parents lost their lives because of her. They died because of her youthful stupidity.

She did not deserve any less pain than this strange man was inflicting upon her.

So she lay back and allowed him to have his way with her—allowed him to bite her, drink her blood, fuck her brains out—hoping that, even though the pain morphed into pleasure so intense it had her scream his name, she was not a bad person for hoping that somehow, this man would turn out to be the one to save her.

From what, she did not know.

All she knew was that, underneath the guilt and self-loathing, she wanted to be given a second chance to enjoy life.

So when he, after several months together, offered—demanded—she'd become like him, she had grasped the opportunity with both hands.

She knew more about what he was now. He had promised her she was allowed to be curious, and allowed to ask questions about his nature.

But only when he was in a good mood.

Yes, that, she had learned the hard way. His moods were volatile and unstable at best. She never knew what would set him off on another killing spree.

The first time she defied him, he laughed and shrugged her off as though she were no more than a nuisance.

The second time, she did not back down, and he had become frustrated with her. She had slept on the floor that night.

The third time, he had bitten her in anger, growled at her, threatened her and made her promise to never speak of the subject of his family or his past again.

She had promised to do so, and he had been pleased—being pleased also meant he would have sex with her; thus making her feel once again.

And even though it hurt, sleeping with a … A thing, that would never love her the way she craved, she decided she would rather hurt than go back to being an empty shell.

After nine months, he had turned her.

She became a creature of the night, and they left Mystic Falls. She never once looked back.

But being what he was, was not easy. It was horrible.

And for once, she wished she had listened to him when he had warned her. But she had not. She had persevered and insisted and begged until he gave in.

And she felt as though her parents died all over again. Only this time, there was no escaping the weight of her guilt, nor her pain.

It crushed her.

It nearly killed her.

And then, it disappeared.

It disappeared, and all that remained was cold, collected indifference.

She no longer felt as though she needed him. She was doing fine on her own.

She seduced him into her bed once again, but instead of staying, as he would do otherwise, he merely shook his head at her and told her she was making a mistake.

When she defied him, he gave her one, hard, icy look and told her that he was not going to stick around to see her fall apart all over again.

He told her to come find him when she realized that, sometimes, feeling _did_ matter.

Before she had the chance to ask what he meant, he had disappeared.

He disappeared, and she was alone once again.

* * *

Months had passed.

She had sworn to herself that she was perfectly fine on her own.

She had insisted she did not need him to be with her.

And so, she kept doing what she did best—she ignored the pangs of regret, of longing, of despair and drowned herself in blood, alcohol and sex, insisting that this was the life she had been born to live.

After all, she had always been a ruthless killer, had she not?

She had even killed her own parents.

To avoid detection, she had been travelling through the country. She had seen everything she had always wanted to see—she had been to Venice Beach in LA, played strip poker and black jack in high end casinos in Las Vegas, hid in a tiny dive bar and played pool with a bunch of morons—she did whatever she wanted.

And two hours ago, she had decided she wanted to go back to Mystic Falls.

After all, _he_ had been the one to insist she'd leave—but now he was gone; he was gone and she could do whatever she liked.

And thus, she found herself sitting in a bustling airport near Mystic Falls another hour later.

She was getting rather edgy—she needed to feed, and she needed it quick.

She wanted an easy lay too.

Sex was one of her main concerns in life now. It helped with her cravings—if she was too busy having her brain fucked out, she could not focus on her bloodlust.

She smirked and entered the bathroom, changing into her killer outfit in the blink of an eye.

She had long learned that men liked it when she looked innocent, and frail. When she set her sights out, waiting to be seduced, she dressed appropriately.

Her summer dress was white and short—barely covering her behind—, and had a tight, low-cut bodice. The skirt was loose and flowy, brushing her upper thighs ever so gently. She let her hair cascade down her shoulders in soft, natural waves and applied little, but necessary make-up.

She looked at her appearance in the mirror and smirked once again.

Yes, finding a half-decent distraction and meal was not going to be a problem at all.

* * *

The bar was, disappointingly, far too empty for her taste.

Perhaps she should not have come back. After all, she did risk her aunt or her brother spotting her here—the one thing she did not want at all.

She had chosen to leave that life, her life, behind for a reason—a reason that was still firmly in place.

So she sat at the bar, drowning countless shots of bourbon, pretending it was still affecting her. She denied the rational part of her mind, that screamed at her to admit that she missed him; after all, bourbon was his favourite drink—because she couldn't. To miss him meant she should care for him, and she could not, could she?

She was incapable of emotions, she had proven that on multiple occasions.

She sat in silence, studying the bartender, wondering if he would taste as good as he smelled, when a sudden voice boomed behind her, startling her slightly.

'Well, what do you know,' the voice exclaimed, 'if it isn't little Elena Gilbert!' She turned to find her aunt's ex standing right behind her, a sleazy smirk covering his lips—she raised an eyebrow when he blatantly and clearly checked her out.

She remembered him.

Logan Fell.

He had broken her aunts heart when he cheated on her.

She narrowed her eyes at him—but she recalled her aunt confiding in her; he was remarkably well-endowed... And good in the sack.

She smirked.

She just found the perfect victim.

She smiled innocently at him and gazed at him from beneath her thick, long lashes. 'Logan? Why, it has been too long!'

Logan took a seat next to her and ordered scotch—she nearly rolled her eyes. This was going to be far too easy. Though she craved an easy lay and blood, she did still enjoy the thrill of the hunt, as he had taught her.

'So,' Logan smirked, 'You look good, Elena.' His eyes raked down her legs—she suppressed a shiver.

Disgusting.

He had slept with her aunt—what was she thinking? Did she honestly want to sleep with a man that had had her aunt? As quick as the thought had sprung up, she squished it again—she honestly _couldn't _care about where that man's hands or cock had been.

She painted a fake, sweet smile on her lips and flipped her hair over her shoulder. 'You don't look too shabby yourself, Logan. It's been a really long time, hasn't it?'

As she predicted, conversation and flirting was easy to engage in with Logan—he was so easily deceived by her innocent-college-girl-appearance—she did not even have to pretend very hard. Logan drank scotch after scotch, his hands somehow ending up underneath her skirt.

She was tired of waiting—she grabbed his chin and gazed into his eyes, releasing her compulsion on him. She was hungry and she was horny, and it needed to be solved now.

She needed to feel something .

The dull nothingness became rather boring after a while. She needed to solve it.

She leaned towards him, her pupils dilating as she spoke in a cold, emotionless tone. 'You will take me to your apartment, we will have hot sex repeatedly until I have had enough and you will not scream when I drink from you. You won't speak unless I ask you to,' she smirked, 'Or unless it's dirty and hot.'

He stared at her blankly for a moment, before he abruptly got to his feet and slammed a few bills onto the bar and held out his hand for her with a what she supposed was meant to be a reassuring smile. She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes for what felt like the millionth time and placed her hand in his, allowing him to pull her from her barstool and lead her to the door.

The ride to his apartment was silent—she was lost in thoughts, barely able to suppress her resurfacing humanity.

There was something wrong.

She was certain—there had to be.

She had been able to live without her humanity for quite some time; it had never before come back to bother her—not even when _he_ had left her.

The switch he had once taught her about—humanity switch—was slowly becoming harder and harder to reach; it was as though it was slowly fading.

She shook off her thoughts as Logan parked the car in front of a large building—a mostly abandoned building. A frown rippled her forehead—this was not an apartment building.

She may not have been here in a long time, but this, she remembered.

This was the Stoner's Joint.

Her brother had spoken of it when she had been human—only the town's rejects came here.

'What are we doing here?' she growled, yanking at the man's chin to look into his eyes, 'I told you to take me to your apartment.'

Logan smirked devilishly, and for the first time in a very, very long time, she felt faint stirrings of worry—of fear.

She shook them off almost immediately—silly. She was strong, and she was smart.

A stupid human was no match for her, especially not a man like Logan Fell. Logan was the kind of man to think with the wrong head.

She raised an eyebrow at him, re-enforcing the compulsion she had already placed on him, smiling indulgently when he explained he could not be seen with a minor—this was far more 'private'.  
She ignored the sense of danger that was still niggling in the back of her head and allowed Logan to drag her inside and push her into one of the abandoned rooms.

She didn't even bother locking the door—wouldn't be the first time someone caught her in the act—and it always ended in lots and lots more of sex and blood.

He was instantly in front of her, roughly pressing her against the wall. She jerked his zipper down and pushed his jeans down to his ankles as he yanked up her skirt. Not so discreetly, she checked out the merchandise and couldn't suppress a smile.

Sure, Jenna wasn't wrong—he was _very_ well endowed... But she had seen—and had—bigger.

She scolded herself once again that night—she was getting too close to feeling anything but lust; and that was not to be encouraged—and focused on the pleasure she was receiving from Logan's caresses.

She didn't bother to ask him to take of his shirt—he didn't try to kiss her and she didn't want him to—that was one thing she never engaged in.

Somehow, a kiss seemed to personal, to _real. _

The last person she had kissed had been... Him.

And he would always be the one who had her first kiss and her last—no matter how much she hated the mere thought of him; that would always be his.

He pushed into her without preamble, fucking her hard and fast—she focused solely on receiving the pleasure and moaned when he hit the right spot—fuck, it had been a very long time since someone had hit that spot.

She felt the demon rise up within her, her canines extending and her need for blood growing exponentially.

Logan's blood called to her; it didn't smell particularly appetizing, but she didn't care; she was hungry, and he was as good as she was going to get at the moment.  
So, without any hesitation whatsoever, she sank her teeth into the soft tissue of his skin, enjoying the full, rich taste of his blood for a full second before she realized something was wrong.

And then everything exploded into a world of pain.

Her body felt as though it was burning—and not in a good way—flames licking at every inch of her porcelain skin.

She was hardly aware of Logan dropping her to the floor quite unceremoniously, pulling out a stake from—well, she wasn't sure where the fucking stake came from.

'What—wh—' She choked, fighting the effects of the vervain as much as she could—but she was young; the vervain effected her more than it would vampires twice her age, and the amount of vervain she ingested while gulping down Logan's blood was too much for her body to handle.

'You didn't really think we did were not aware of your little boyfriend's true nature, did you?' he sneered, an evil smirk that did not belong on his thin lips forming on his face, 'That we did not know he would make you what he was? We have been waiting for the opportunity to rid the world of all that once was Elena Gilbert.'

She wanted to fight—but his words struck that part of her; that part that had been magnified after she turned; the part that insisted she didn't deserve to live; the part that knew she did not have anything left to live for.

His words rang true in her mind; after all, she had nothing left—no one left.

Even he had left her.

Perhaps this was a good thing; at least this time, dying would stick.

She accepted it silently—the part of her that wanted to die stronger and more overpowering than her survival instincts; she closed her eyes and took one last, deep breath, conjuring up the image of the only man that had ever touched her and made her want to beg him to stay; the only man that had ever made her want to fight for her life.

She allowed herself to admit that she had been wrong; and that she had to forgive him for walking away from her; for what she could see now was how much it had clearly cost him.

She smiled softly and whispered, 'I love you, Damon,' before the stake penetrated her heart, and ended her life; a life that had ended the moment Damon Salvatore laid eyes on her.

* * *

**R&R, people!**


End file.
